Don't Forget
by Verdite
Summary: A lovesick Mako comforts Korra, just before their fight against the Red Lotus. It doesn't make him feel any better, though. - Rated M for smut.


As unruly and impulsive as the Avatar is, sometimes Mako considers her predictable.

He finds Korra, as expected, in the same room where she and Suyin Beifong had made plans to confront Zaheer. She is staring out a window, watching as the world far below shifts beneath their Zaofu airship. Misty mountains and winding rivers are illuminated in the moonlight, the harsh, rocky landscape spanning for miles on end.

The Earth Kingdom from on high would be beautiful on any other night. But tonight it feels like there is perhaps no beauty left in the world, as if it had burned along with Ba Sing Se. Death looms near, not just for their group, but for all of the airbenders the Red Lotus have taken captive. Every world leader and many others will be in danger if Korra's team proves unable to defeat them.

The plan is to trade her for the hostages, then to rescue Korra once the airbenders have been secured. But Mako finds it difficult to imagine handing her over to a group of murderers who surely want to kill her just as they did the Earth Queen. Korra is the embodiment of the world's balance—she is hope and justice and elemental fury all cocooned inside one rebellious eighteen-year-old girl. To lose her would be to lose everything, he thinks, and it's not only his irrational love for her speaking.

Zaheer became an airbender due to Harmonic Convergence, just as their friends Opal, Kai and Bumi had. Yet as wonderful a gift airbending is to the world, the ability seems twisted, unnatural, when in the hands of a terrorist like Zaheer.

Korra is due to meet him on Laghima's Peak at noon. It is just hours before daybreak now. Mako feels a twinge of concern at the thought of her not getting enough rest before fighting those people.

"You should try to sleep," he tells her, lingering in the doorway of the room.

She barely glances at him before returning to stare out the window. A moment later, she looks again, in response to the sound of the metal door closing behind him.

"Korra."

"I'm okay," she says a bit too softly, uncharacteristically, but her body appears anything but soft. Hands gripping the railing in front of her, muscles tensed and rigid, she looks as if she's prepared to fight Zaheer now.

Mako doesn't tell her that he couldn't shut his eyes, either, even as he wears nothing but his ratty undershirt and pants as night clothes. That is why he is here instead of sleeping on the berths with the others. Some people had managed to fall asleep, though Chief Beifong is awake also, sitting by the radio in another compartment of the airship. Korra's father, Tonraq, had rolled over on his thin mattress to acknowledge Mako as he left the bunk room.

Everyone's nerves have been worn raw. Mako himself feels nauseous. He can only imagine how Korra feels, knowing how much is at stake, how dangerous this day is likely to become.

Mako steps behind her. Hoping he is able to provide some semblance of comfort, he reaches out and lets his hand curve around one of her bare elbows. The skin feels cold and prickled with goosebumps beneath his fingers.

"You should try to sleep," he says again. Her head turns slightly so she can see him in her peripheral vision.

There is a forlornness in her expression that he can't remember ever seeing in the first half-year he'd known her. Even as they dealt with Amon and the Equalists, even when she'd lost her bending, she had never appeared this resigned to her fate. She changed somehow after her fight against Vaatu and Unalaq, and after losing her connection to the past Avatars. Mako wonders if she lost a part of herself that day as well.

Korra's head tilts down. The defined muscles of her back shift as she seems to shrink inward under his gaze. It's a compulsion, really, that makes him disregard the invisible boundaries they've constructed and reach out further, placing both of his hands on the metal railing around her.

_Everything will be alright,_ Mako wants to say. But enough people have fed her that specific lie today, and he is a terrible liar to boot. The firebender has never been good at giving advice, especially when it comes to his ex-girlfriend. Instead he can only offer his presence.

It comes as a mild surprise when one of her hands slips over his, accepting it.

They don't speak for a long while. She sniffs once, and in response he moves so his arms cage closer around her torso, hands still grasping the railing.

Korra leans against him, backside brushing his front.

A long sigh escapes her. The sound is familiar to his ears, breathy and low and it reminds him of the long nights they used to spend together. Suddenly he is struggling to keep his thoughts appropriate.

They are _not_ a couple. They should not _be_ a couple, because time and time again they've proven to be incompatible, both too headstrong and argumentative for a stable relationship. Perhaps it is because they're fire and water at heart, spiritual opposites... though that's an archaic concept, and it often seems she has more fire in her veins than he does.

But it's obvious that she does find comfort in his touch. Her fingers are on his, her arms touching his, her back against his chest. Little loose wisps of hair beneath her ponytail catch his eye, and then he's looking at her neck and the soft, brown skin there, and he wants to kiss her. There, and everywhere.

"I'll always love you, Mako," she whispers, snapping him from his reverie. "Remember that, okay? Don't forget."

Her words twist some heavy part in his chest, because he can tell her thoughts are not on the same wavelength as his; she is still thinking about the future, fighting Zaheer, saving the airbenders no matter the cost. She is thinking about her own sacrificial death and leaving him in this world without her. The declaration is an echo of words spoken before, a confession, a final gift for him to part with. As if her love could ever be a suitable consolation for her life.

She thinks she's going to die.

Or maybe she knows she will, with that Avatar intuition.

He tries not to crumble in front of her. Not when this girl—this spirited, stubborn, beautiful girl—has yet to crack. This feeling of dread has curled inside him before, every time the thought of forever losing Korra or Bolin struck him, but never have they truly acknowledged that risk together. Never has she said a final farewell like this.

He can't control himself and suddenly his arms are wrapped around her waist, touching her like he's been wanting to all along, pulling her against him as if he can somehow protect her from the dangers of this wretched place.

"Be quiet," he says, tucking his head into the back of her neck. "Shut up. Don't— Don't—"

"Mako."

"We're going to win," Mako vows firmly. "We'll save everyone. We'll kill the Red Lotus. I'll shoot that bastard down where he stands, it doesn't matter. But we're _not_ going to lose you, Korra. So don't even... Don't say goodbye like that."

"Mako," she repeats, almost exasperatedly, twisting around in his hold. Her fingers find his face and blue eyes meet his searchingly. "That's... not what I meant. If I wanted to say goodbye..."

That sentence is never completed.

She's risen up on her toes, still leaning in, and he's startled to find that their mouths are close—perhaps intentionally so. Her warm breath puffs against his chin.

Her simple nearness to his face is an unexpected intimacy that inflames the dying embers in his chest, embers he's been trying to smother ever since they'd separated. Yes, he decides, she's more an embodiment of fire than the water of her origin, burning him from the inside out. Or perhaps she is both, for when her fingers slip down the line of his throat, an emotion unnamed washes over him like a jagged wave.

A moment passes and neither person retreats. Foreheads touch, a wordless acknowledgment shared, and then she's rising up the last couple inches and kissing him.

He doesn't want to talk anymore, either. Not about goodbyes.

Kissing the Avatar is just like he remembers: her mouth is soft and warm and wet, lips pliable under his, her body relaxing in his arms. Her hands move, one stopping on his shoulder and the other resting at the hairline on his neck. His tongue pushes into her mouth to meet hers. The feel of her fingertips curling into his short hair, scratching his skin, makes a pleasant shiver run down his spine.

This is a dance they've done many times before. It is familiar, somehow calming and exciting all at once.

As their kiss deepens, his hand hesitates at the bottom of her ribcage, tempted by the sensation of her soft breasts pressed against him through their clothes. He combats the urge to touch and recall every inch of her. He wants to sear everything about her into his memory—_just in case_, a part of him says, in case they never have this chance again.

He immediately chastises himself for thinking that way. These are potentially their final moments together, and he wants to cherish them, not tarnish.

"I love you," Mako murmurs against her mouth once they part a little. She clings to him even as he takes a small step backward. His nose nudges hers, a hint of playfulness to change the somber mood, and she smiles.

Spirits, what a welcome relief the sight is.

Her eyes are captivating, even in the pale, unnatural lighting from the fluorescent bulbs overhead. Mako examines her face thoughtfully. Even if he cannot find beauty in the world a thousand feet below them, he sees it in her face, the curves of her cheekbones, the pout of her mouth. The femininity there is perhaps a contrast to the musculature of her body and the strength of her soul. She is a series of pleasing contradictions, and he wonders if the light spirit, Raava, chose to be consumed by Korra for all the same reasons Mako did.

With similar pensiveness, she stares up at him.

He ducks down to capture her mouth again. Their kisses shift from comforting into something more—heat coils low in his gut as she hums, pressing herself impossibly closer, tugging his hair and making him groan.

"Can we—" Korra begins to say against his lips, then pauses.

"Hm?"

The hand around the nape of his neck falls to twist in his shirt. "I wish there was a place we could go. Someplace more _private_, you know?"

Mako's face gets warmer.

They've had sex before, of course. He is nineteen years old and she is a hormonal eighteen, and they had dated for six months, so things were bound to happen in that time. But he did not expect her to really _want_ him after they had separated. Even if that facet of their relationship had been one of the most... _compatible_ between them, all things considered.

His cheeks are tinged pink but Korra doesn't notice, moving lower to press her mouth against his jaw.

"That's not why I kissed you just now," Mako says. Belatedly, he realizes that _she_ had initiated the kissing, but that is beside the point. It takes him a few seconds to recall why he had come to visit her in the first place.

_Sleep. For the fight later. Right._

But when a hand cups the bulge in his pants, he can't find the words to suggest it a third time. Fingers find the shape of him and rub until he's fully hard and hot against her hand, his mind fogging up with lust as her lips linger wetly against his throat.

The hand leaves him and she waves it toward the entrance. With a flick of her wrist, the small metal lock on the door handle clicks into place.

In no way are they in a private place. In fact, there is a good chance one of their friends or a guard will stumble upon them; a lock can't keep a metalbender out, after all. He tries to imagine how terrible a situation like that would be—he _tries_—but then Korra's removing her boots and pants. He sees that round little ass covered by white panties, a sharp contrast to her smooth umber skin, and all other thoughts abruptly vanish from his mind.

"We'll have to be quick," Mako says, unbuttoning his slacks. She moves to take her top off, but then visibly reconsiders. Staying half-clothed is probably for the best, though in all honesty, her bosom is his favorite part of her body.

There is a table in the middle of the room inlaid with a map. Korra pushes the miniature airship and helmet figures there aside, clearing space for her to hop up on the surface. The table has a raised lip, they notice at the same time, so her sitting on it would be uncomfortable and/or impossible for this purpose.

"Bend," Mako says, turning her away from him to fully face the table.

"What?"

"Bend over." He presses her gently forward, and she laughs once she understands.

"Oh, that kind. Mm." She hooks a finger on either side of her panties and wriggles out of them. As he pushes his underwear down to his knees, Korra leans and rests her elbows on the big map, letting her rear end jut out at him ever so enticingly.

He quickly finds her, slick and ready for him. When he slips inside, no barriers between them for the first time ever, everything feels both familiar and new.

* * *

It takes a while, as it usually does for her, but when Korra climaxes, her body squeezes him so tightly that he has to stop moving. The feeling of everything _her_ clenching around him, so hot and wet in a way he has never fully experienced before today, drives him crazy. Mako slumps over, resting his sweaty torso against her back as she twitches and exhales shakily, murmuring an expletive as she slowly comes down from her high.

Korra's hands are stretched out with fingers clawing, trying to find purchase on the smooth surface. He rubs one palm over the small of her back, waiting for her to relax before he continues.

He pulls himself out slightly then sinks back in. She's still so tight it makes him groan, makes his hands grab at her hips and breasts and shoulders as he starts up again, shallowly thrusting.

She chuckles at a desperate sound he makes, then coos appreciatively when he changes the angle, hitting her somewhere deep inside in a way that causes her forehead to fall against the table.

It pleases him to see her wholly distracted by his touch, even if just for this moment.

Mako doesn't know what comes over the both of them, in the end. As he reaches his peak, Korra begs him to _stay, stay inside me, please_, and he is so overwhelmed and aroused by her words he doesn't even consider protesting until it is a minute too late.

* * *

She remains stationary as if glued to the table, rear end still sticking out. Mako is putting his slacks back on properly when he realizes he can see his cum trickling out of her, a small amount dripping to the floor between her feet.

Korra's gaze is trained forward on one wall, body only moving as she breathes. It looks as if she's been stunned—stunned by her own actions, perhaps, or stunned because he actually listened to her.

They're both idiots.

"Sorry," he says as a knee-jerk reaction, even though she wanted it.

That's no excuse and they know it.

* * *

"This isn't goodbye," she says later.

But judging by the way she kisses him, it is.

* * *

When the fight is finished, Zaheer has been secured and all three of his cohorts are dead.

Mako himself took out the armless waterbender. Her petite body flung to the ground, spasming with electricity, and her raspy, pained screech echoed through the cavern. Death had come almost instantaneously.

Their fight ended so abruptly because he panicked. Mako knew how to control the strength of the lightning he generated—he had been able to shock Amon with a much less powerful strike—and it was possible to disable such a person without killing them. But Mako had been pinned in a terrible position, surrounded by his enemy's element of water, and his little brother was fighting a lavabender who was undeniably stronger than him. Bolin needed him. Korra and everyone else needed him.

So in the heat of the moment, he did it, sending out the strongest bolt he could manage.

Killing another person makes him feel disgusting, no matter how much she deserved it. He _fried her alive_...

But his feelings are unimportant, now. The Avatar had been poisoned and brutally beaten. She lingered on the precipice of death before Suyin managed to pull the metallic substance from her body. When someone relayed everything that had happened to her, Mako couldn't believe Korra was still breathing.

They are fortunate, _extremely_ fortunate, that her name wasn't added to the list of casualties.

That risk has not dissipated, however. Kya hasn't verbalized it, but the metallic poison remains wholly unknown; they do not know its side effects, or if it will be long-lasting, or if she will be able to recover at all. Will Korra's condition worsen? Could she still die?

Three days have passed since the fight ended. Korra's most critical injuries were treated in an Earth Kingdom village close to the Northern Air Temple, but now they are heading back to Republic City in an airship so Korra can have a stable, familiar place to recover at.

The Beifong family and the metalbenders have left for Zaofu. Bolin joined them under the guise of checking in on Grandma and the animals, but Mako can tell he's still concerned for the airbender girl, Opal, even though she is uninjured.

Tenzin's family and the airbenders have already headed back to Air Temple Island on their flying bison, save for Kya, who stays nearby for healing sessions every few hours.

Tonraq, Asami and Mako have not left Korra's side either. They prepared a private room just for her to rest in during the flight home, but with all these people hovering about her, its privacy is somewhat questionable.

Sometimes Korra wakes up from the feel of Kya's cool, glowing water swishing over every inch of her body. Sometimes she does not stir at all. "She'll be okay," Kya had said, but in the same breath, she added, "Tell me if she gets too warm," and, "Keep an eye on her breathing."

It hurts just to look at Korra. Her bruised skin displays a rainbow of colors and is covered in fresh dressings that have red seeping through. Her lovely hair is down and curling around her shoulders in lazy, dark tendrils, still damp from when Asami washed it again—it had been tousled, damp with sweat and blood after her fight with Zaheer.

She looks better now, but still terrible.

Even in sleep, her face is frozen as if in a permanent grimace from the pain. The nerves in her limbs have been severely damaged, a healer explained. Further pain is to be expected.

Her father, Tonraq, sleeps slumped-over in a nearby chair. Mako is even closer to her, sitting on the floor beside Korra's bed, leaning his back against a nightstand with one arm propped awkwardly atop her mattress. The drawer knob digging into his shoulder blade should bother him more than it actually does.

A half-hour ago, she shifted and whined in her sleep, fingers wringing at the cotton sheets. He reached across and stilled her hand with his own. And he still hasn't let go, even though her clammy fingers are slack and she is unconscious again.

Asami enters the room a while later, holding a tray of teacups and something edible. She sees Mako holding the Avatar's hand and smiles faintly before turning away to wake Tonraq.

"You'll hurt your neck that way," she tells the older man.

He stirs and grumbles something dismissive in a voice thick with sleep, but then takes a cup of tea the girl has offered him. "Don't worry about me."

"Hungry?"

"No, but thank you."

Asami makes a disapproving sound. "You need to eat, too. Keep your strength up."

She hands him something anyway, which he takes. Then she turns to Mako.

"How's she doing?" Asami asks in a soft voice, and the attentive father in the room looks at him expectantly too.

Mako finally lets go of Korra to take a warm teacup Asami has offered with both hands. "She'll need more of that medicine soon," he whispers, speaking of the foul-smelling herbal paste Kya has been giving her.

"We gave her some an hour ago."

"She's still hurting."

"I know... I wish we could, but it's concentrated," Asami explains. "There's only so much we can do."

"It's not enough," Mako insists.

"The healers suggested up to six doses a day. It's a really strong sedative, we don't want—"

"It isn't strong _enough,_ Asami," he snaps. "Fucking _look_ at her."

The sudden anger in his voice makes Asami shift her weight uncomfortably.

Mako realizes there's tenseness in his shoulders and forces himself to relax, to lean himself back against the nightstand. Asami isn't intimidated, but still... He takes a sip of tea and lowers his eyes to the floor.

Asami tells them in no uncertain terms that she'll bring more medicine in three hours.

The door shuts behind her, not with a bang, but with a click.

He's aggravated, definitely. But he does not let himself become angry with Asami, because he knows she cares for Korra just as deeply. They're best friends now, aren't they? Asami is only doing what she believes is best, listening to her mind over her heart. That is something Mako has always had trouble doing.

He stares at the brownish liquid in his teacup, trying to ignore the weight of Tonraq's gaze on him.

Korra must have inherited her stubbornness and strength of will from her father. He has barely left her side at all, Mako has noticed, forgoing meals and holding his bladder every time Korra's awake. Not that Mako has done much differently.

"You should try to sleep," Tonraq suggests after a long while.

His words and gentle tone are familiar. Those are the same words Mako said to Korra, just before she said she loved him. Before she said her not-goodbye.

When Mako looks at the battered girl again, he tries to convince himself that she'll be okay.

But he has never been good at lying.


End file.
